


shaking, pacing (i just need you)

by lucylikestowrite



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hate Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Semi-Public Sex, but still following the canon bc i love canon too much, just taking a bit more liberties with timelines/events than in the previous fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/pseuds/lucylikestowrite
Summary: Five times they sleep together, and one time there's a morning after.





	shaking, pacing (i just need you)

**Author's Note:**

> can u guess who the title is from? spoiler alert, her name starts with a t and ends with an aylor swift. song is don't blame me. listen to reputation, y'all. #freepromo

i.

 

Sara corners her as she is about to leave. She stands in the middle of the hallway, her arms crossed, a smirk on her face.

 

“Get out of my way.” Ava doesn't have time for this.

 

There is something in Sara’s expression that says, _“Make me,”_ and it’s infuriating. Ava’s blood boils, and then heat pools in her stomach, and before she knows it, Sara is flat against the wall, her hands pinned above her head.

 

The smirk doesn't disappear. If anything, it strengthens. She has the nerve to bite her lip.

 

“So when you said I was even worse than you’d imagined… was this how you were imagining me?”

 

Her voice is low, and her eyes are focused on Ava’s.

 

“No,” Ava says, her voice almost a growl, and then she kisses Sara's open mouth, silencing any retort that Sara might have been trying to shoot back. It's not a lie. Ava hasn't thought about this until right this second, but now it's all she can think about, the thought of Sara eclipsing every semblance of rational thought still fighting for control in her mind.

 

Sara doesn't seem to mind the interruption.

 

Ava’s mouth is rough, and Sara’s is rougher. Sara bites at her lip, and it's such a jolt that Ava lets go of Sara’s hands. It feels like electricity is coursing through her veins. Her teeth tug at Ava’s lip in a way that is too soft and all too much all at once.

 

Sara’s hands, free from where Ava’s fingers had been encircling her wrists fall immediately to Ava’s hair, making short work of the neat bun there. It's like she planned this. Maybe she did. Ava hears pins fall to the floor, but she can't bring herself to care.

 

But the hair falling down her back seems like some sort of acceptance of Sara taking control, and she doesn't like that.

 

Sara's body leans out from the wall, her hands getting more and more brazen. Ava’s hands find Sara’s shoulders and push back. Sara’s head thuds, and she is once again flat against the wall.

 

Ava kisses her again, one hand on her hip, keeping her in place, the other in Sara’s hair.

 

If they were fighting before, now it's a full-on war. Neither of them is giving in, neither of them wants to stop. Neither of them is going to stop. It's a train crash and there's nowhere to turn.

 

Sara’s mouth is hot, and Ava wants more. Sara obviously does too, her hands trailing down towards Ava’s waistline, her mouth tracing a line down Ava’s neck that feels too good, making Ava hate her even more.

 

“Not here,” Ava manages to hiss. She'd like to think she has enough dignity not to be caught by one of the idiots, fucking their captain against a wall.

 

“Good thing I planned ahead, then,” Sara says, not breaking eye contact as she hits a button half a meter away. A door slides open, and she pulls Ava through the doorway by her lapels.

 

Inside Sara’s room, it's a dance, both partners too stubborn to let the other lead.

 

Sara pulls off Ava’s clothes; Ava gets rid of Sara’s so violently they almost rip.

 

Every time Ava touches Sara, she smirks, and she wants nothing more than to wipe that look off her face and never see it again.

 

Her kisses get rougher, her grip gets stronger. She knows she will leave bruises, but Sara’s grip is matching hers - they are mirrors of each other, meant for each other in some fucked up kind of way.

 

It's Ava’s fingers that find Sara’s centre first, though, and seeing her arch off the bed, her eyes glazing a bit at the touch, feels like winning the battle.

 

When Sara falls apart around her fingers, finally giving up the fight for control, she has won.

 

She shouldn't be as close as she is, not from this, not from watching Sara, not from watching someone she hates so much break under her fingers, but her body betrays her, and all it takes is a couple of feather light touches from Sara and she is gone, white starbursts on the inside of her eyelids.

 

That's enough to bring another comment to Sara’s lips, and she leaves before she can hear it.

 

At home, she showers. The thought of what she's let Sara see, what she's let her do, feels dirty on her skin. She doesn't usually make it a habit of letting her enemies see her at her most vulnerable, and yet, here she is. Hot water rushes over her, and she makes it hotter, trying to burn it all away.

 

ii.

 

Ava has Sara up against a wall again.

 

“Well, this is familiar.”

 

Memories rush back, memories that Ava has been trying to bury. If she thinks about it too much, she wants it to happen again, which is ridiculous, because she hates the woman.

 

She hates her, and she can't get the thought of lips on lips, skin on skin, out of her head.

 

They collapse on the floor. “Time out?” Ava asks. Sara looks at Ava, and everything feels inevitable. It's not, not if Ava had any self-control, but she doesn't, and everything that happens, happens.

 

Sara lips crash onto Ava’s, and Ava has to stop herself from sighing.

 

She is already ready, she can feel it. This time, she doesn't try so hard to stay in control, letting Sara walk her back into the library, until her legs hit the table.

 

It doesn't seem so private, but then Sara hits a button (the Waverider seems to be nothing but buttons) and it seals off from the bridge, a door sliding silently out. The room is suddenly dark. Sara's eyes are darker.

 

Ava’s jacket is gone, her shirt is open, and Sara lips are everywhere, and all she can think of is Sara.

 

Sara's hands get at her pants, pulling them down, and Ava closes her eyes. It's easier to forget whose hands are on her hips like that.

 

Something in the back of her mind tells her to stop, that this is irresponsible and irrational and utterly, utterly stupid, but Sara’s lips are getting lower, and all of a sudden her mouth is exactly where Ava needs it, and she's not thinking at all anymore.

 

Her hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles white.

 

Sara is too good at this. Embarrassingly good.

 

Ava doesn't want to give Sara the satisfaction of falling apart, but of course she does. Her chest heaves, her breathe coming out in one long sigh. Her legs feel useless.

 

She is still mostly dressed, her shirt still on her shoulders, her pants only halfway down her legs.

 

Sara, of course, smirks.

 

She is still a little bit out of it when the tiger appears, still coming down from a high that she wishes she hadn't reached. Otherwise, she would not have ran. But her mind is still wrapped in cotton wool, the water she was drinking doing nothing to calm her thoughts, or cool the wanting in her body for more.

 

iii.

 

Ava feels the cold kiss of the barrel of a gun against the nape of her neck. A shiver runs through her whole body. She turns around, slowly, hands up.

 

The street is dark. The only light is the moon, glinting off the puddles left by the evening’s rain. Ava’s hair is still wet.

 

Sara is holding the gun, but she knew that already. The barrel is level with her face, and steady. Sara’s eyes are dark, her mouth set. The hint of playfulness that is usually present is not there.

 

“You really shouldn't try to tail someone who’s been killed multiple times,” Sara says. She clicks the safety back on, lowering the gun. “You get pretty paranoid after a certain amount of times. And good at spotting tails.”

 

She spins the gun around her finger. Ava’s eyes follow it, her mouth dry, her heart beating. She knows she shouldn't be feeling how she does, that she's on a job, that she's _failed_ the job by being made, but then again, she's already failed. She can't do worse than that - right?

 

Sara laughs, low and quiet and rueful. “You liked that, huh?” she asks, an eyebrow cocked.

 

Ava doesn't say anything. There's no explanation for it, no underlying death wish. Just an unexplainable thrill when she had felt a gun that she knew was Sara’s touching her skin. She knows that her eyes must be dark, the pupil dilating.

 

“I didn't take you for the type to be fucked up like that,” Sara says, and it's not an insult, not the way she says it. It's something nearer to admiration.

 

Ava is still silent. Whatever this is between them, this endless series of bouts between them, this is what has fucked her up, and they both know it, the question answered by the silence hanging in the air between them.

 

Sara empties the cartridge, bullets pooling in her palm, before tucking the gun into her waistband. Ava watches, mesmerised.

 

They are in a back alley in Star City. It's the middle of the night, and no-one is around.

 

Sara kisses her, searing hot in the cold of the night. Ava kisses back, mouth open, hungry. Her hands are on the back of Sara’s head, pulling her in, keeping her in place.

 

It is Ava’s turn to be pinned against a wall, cold brick rough against her back. Wet seeps through to her back.

 

One of Sara’s hands is braced on the brick. The other is cupped around Ava’s neck. It starts raining again, the sort of rain which is hardly there, but in seconds, Sara’s hair is covered in a light dusting of microscopic droplets.

 

Sara’s knee nudges in between her thighs, and the pressure is _something_ but not enough, not nearly enough.

 

She knows that, strictly, they're out in the open, but it doesn't feel like it. All she can see is Sara. The world has narrowed to two people, two people who are trying to hate each other and failing.

 

Sara’s hands fumble with Ava’s zipper. When she eventually succeeds, her fingers are freezing cold, and Ava gasps into Sara’s mouth.

 

The angle is awkward. Her hips cant, trying to get a better angle. The gun, tucked in the front of Sara’s pants, presses into her, a reminder of how this all started.

 

It feels like an age ago, but it's been minutes.

 

She leans her head away from Sara’s mouth, staring up into the night sky. Her breath clouds in front of her. She watches it with a detached interest.

 

Sara takes advantage of the angle, her mouth eager in the expanse of neck.

 

Sara’s fingers are urgent, pressing into Ava like she needs it, and maybe she does. Maybe they both need it.

 

There are no answers in Sara’s eyes when Ava meets them, no answers in her body when Ava presses desperate fingers into her arm.

 

Sara is coiled muscle. She's dangerous. Ava has known that since the first time she met her.

 

And yet, Ava is here, with Sara’s hand moving inside her, and there isn't a situation in the world where she would've pushed her away.

 

There's no set rhythm; Sara is keeping her on her toes. She is slow, and then fast, then slow, and, just when Ava feels like it's all too much, like she's going to collapse, boneless, Sara picks up the pace again, and then, finally, it's enough to tip her over the edge.

 

She slumps against Sara, not sure how she'd stayed standing this whole time. She looks up at Sara through lidded eyes. Her hair is completely soaked.

 

Sara waits for a minute, then, when it seems like Ava can stand again, turns and walks away. It's horrible, and yet it's the only way this was going to end.

 

Ava can hear her putting slotting the bullets back in place, and she has to stifle a groan that tries to escape from her mouth.

 

Her legs give way. It keeps raining.

 

iv.

 

Ava storms onto the Waverider.

 

“I need to talk to you,” she says, eyes blazing.  “Alone,” she adds.

 

The Legends scatter at a single nod from Sara.

 

“Why don't we talk in my office?”

 

“I don't care where we talk,” Ava says, gritting her teeth.

 

“Let's talk in my office.”

 

It doesn't seem like a question. Ava doesn't want to waste her breathe arguing over this, so she follows.

 

Sara shuts the door behind them.

 

“You don't need to do that.”

 

“Oh?” Sara asks, eyebrow cocked.

 

“I'm not going to be here long.”

 

Sara's eyebrow remains raised, her expression skeptical.

 

“I'm not here to fucking sleep with you, Sara. I'm here because you seriously endangered every single person on _both_ of our ships in order to prove some sort of childish point!” Her voice raises to the point that she is glad that the door is closed.

 

Sara doesn't seem too bothered. She moves closer.

 

“I knew you'd pull away.”

 

“What if I hadn't?”

 

Sara is still moving closer. She's playing with Ava, and Ava can feel herself dangling off the precipice.

 

“I knew you would.”

 

“You are the most infuriating, reckless, stubborn person I have ever had the displeasure to meet,” she says, it coming out in one breath.

 

Sara eyes her. The moment hangs.

 

“Are you done?” Sara asks.

 

Ava sighs, shaking her head. She feels like she's going crazy. She had every intention of coming here just to yell at Sara, and now-

 

Now she's pushing Sara down onto the couch.

 

“I thought you didn't come here to sleep with me?” Sara asks, her voice playful.

 

She didn't. She really didn't. But that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Everything is upside down. Fire is water and black is white and she wants to be near Sara.

 

“If you say one more thing, I'm not,” Ava says, her voice short.

 

Sara shuts up. It's at least satisfying to know she wants this as much as Ava does.

 

She doesn't make a sound, even though Ava can tell she wants to. Even though that wasn't strictly in the parameters of her demand, but she likes it. If Sara’s going to make her own rules, Ava doesn't mind.

 

It becomes a challenge. Ava draws it out, her movements slow, lazy, almost. She knows it isn't enough, knows Sara knows she knows this.

 

Sara keens into her, her hands pulling at Ava’s arms, fingers trying to say what she's not with her mouth.

 

Ava gets slower.

 

She kisses down Sara’s body, sucking hard enough to leave purple trails in her wake, her mouth everywhere but where it's needed.

 

She's pissed, and she's not going to make this easy.

 

Sara’s eyes closed a long time ago, and they don't open. Ava is glad. It's easier to forget who she is, how she's supposed to feel about her when she can't see how she’s feeling.

 

Her hips buck, and Ava presses them back down. She's making the decisions.

 

Sara’s mouth opens as if to say something, and she closes it again.

 

Ava leans down, meeting Sara’s lips, pulling them with her teeth, and the tiniest moan escapes Sara's lips.

 

She contemplates leaving, keeping her promise, but all she's done lately is break her promises, so why not break one more?

 

Her words mean nothing anymore, not with a body that's a traitor to her heart.

 

She curls her fingers, and finally, finally ups the pace.

 

Sara’s eyes snap open. She meets Ava’s gaze, her eyes wild.

 

It's finally Ava’s turn to smirk.

 

She holds Sara’s gaze as she moves her mouth downwards.

 

She feels Sara tightening around her fingers in anticipation. Her mean streak rears again, wanting to leave, pull away, make her feel the sort of anger she'd felt earlier in the day.

 

But, again, she doesn't. Her mouth joins her fingers, and a second later, Sara is coming.

 

Sara is a mess. She lets out a gasp of breath, and then swears. “Shit, Ava.” A hand goes to her head. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

 

Ava stands up, straightening herself out. She's still fully dressed. She's never been more turned on, but she's not going to let Sara know that.

 

“Don't ever pull a stunt like that again.”

 

She doesn't want to leave, but she does.

 

v.

 

Sara is in her apartment. Ava doesn't know how. She has a pretty good idea why.

 

Her silhouette is dark against the harsh light of street lamps through the window. Her clothes are dark.

 

“You have terrible taste in whiskey.”

 

Ava crosses her arms.

 

“I don't think you can complain about the alcohol choice when you've broken into someone’s house, and are stealing said alcohol.”

 

Sara shrugs. “Maybe not.” She downs the rest of the tumbler. “But you still have bad taste in whiskey.”

 

Ava hadn't even known she'd owned any whiskey. Maybe her brother had bought it for her, as some sort of ploy to make her more social. She doesn't particularly care that Sara is drinking it.

 

Sara doesn't waste any time. She kisses Ava, hard.

 

Her mouth tastes like alcohol, and it burns the back of Ava’s throat.

 

“I don't want to think anymore,” Sara whispers, her mouth almost touching Ava’s.

 

“Okay,” Ava says, capturing Sara back in a kiss.

 

Sara is insistent, her mouth moving on Ava’s like never before, like if she holds on tight enough nothing has to be real anymore. Fire burns through Ava’s body. Every touch is a burn. Sara has broken her down so much, what more is a couple of words?

 

Ava’s apartment is tiny, the kitchen leading straight into the bedroom. She walks Sara back, slowly.

 

When they hit the bed, Sara is quiet. Her coat pools on the floor. Ava reaches a hand around, finds the zip on Sara’s dress, and pulls as gently as she can. Sara has never seemed breakable, never even seemed anything less than utterly unbreakable and immovable, but tonight she does.

 

The dress falls to the floor, and Sara steps out of it. For a second, they are apart, as Ava pulls her sweater over her shoulders. Sara’s hands splay across her stomach. Her fingers are cold, always cold.

 

The cold does nothing to stop the spread of the fire.

 

Sara kisses her, again, keeps kissing until they are both gasping for breath. Sara's hands stay resting on Ava’s chest, just below the lines from her bra.

 

When Sara pulls away, her eyes are desperate, so Ava pushes her down, hovers over her, and starts pulling her apart, piece by piece.

 

Sara's eyes close, her face relaxing as Ava’s hands go everywhere, softer than usual, because this Sara seems delicate.  

 

Her mouth follows her hands. She doesn't neglect a single bit of skin, all the while working deeper inside Sara.

 

Sara is quiet through most of it. Not silent, not like last time, but quiet. Something is wrong, but it's nothing to do with Ava, or her fingers flexing inside of Sara - Sara’s tiny smiles make that clear.

 

Every time she comes, she is briefly okay, and then she wants more, and Ava is happy to keep going. She doesn't know how they got here, got to a point where Sara is laid out on _her_ bed, on _her_ sheets - and where Ava actually wants her there.

 

She doesn't know when their kisses stopped being a fight.

 

She doesn't know when the fire stopped burning her, stopped hurting.

 

She doesn't know anything, except that the woman in front of her _needs_ her.

 

At some point, Sara, pulls away. A few minutes later, she's rolled over, asleep. She finally seems calm. It's late, practically early morning, but Ava doesn't mind.

 

Sara is spread across most of the bed, so Ava leaves her. She'll sleep on her couch.

 

On the way out, she picks up Sara’s clothes.

 

The sun is just about beginning to rise, and when she looks at the dress, it's not just dark, but plain black.

 

A piece of paper falls out of the coat pocket when she picks it up to fold it: a funeral programme.

 

Sara is not there when she wakes up.

 

* * *

 

i.

 

Sara is in Ava’s apartment. She has to remind herself that when she wakes up, and is momentarily confused as to her whereabouts.

 

Ava is next to her. Their hair mingles in the middle of the pillows. Their limbs are tangled together under the sheets.

 

She looks so peaceful. Sara doesn't want to move and wake her, so she lets sleep take her again.

 

When she next wakes up, it's to Ava’s voice.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

 

She turns, forcing her eyes open.

 

Ava is leaning in the doorway, her hair loose and swept over one shoulder.

 

She's wearing her shirt from last night. There's no logical reason for that, because it's her apartment, and she could change into any shirt she wanted.

 

But she knows Sara gets a kick out of it, gets a kick from where it's gaping open at the top, three buttons missing because Sara ripped them off last night.  There's a hint of bare chest that makes Sara want to immediately pull it back off.

 

She's changed underwear though. Sara knows this because last night they were lacy and black, and now they're plain white.

 

She doesn't mind. Ava looks good in anything. She also thinks she might be partly to blame for the change; she vaguely remembers ripping something in half.

 

Ava has turned away.

 

“I'm making breakfast.”

 

“Or you could come back to bed.”

 

Ava rolls her eyes. “I'm making breakfast.”

 

Sara sees she's not backing down with a fight. She rolls out of bed, finding her underwear and the tank top she was wearing. Ava has a strict no-nudity in the kitchen rule, and she's less likely to get her way if she breaks it.

 

Ava's good at cooking, and whatever she's making smells good, but she just wants her back in bed.

 

She gets in between Ava and the stovetop, pressing into space that isn't there.

 

“Come back to bed? Please?”

 

Ava reaches behind Sara’s back. Sara hears the gas turn off. She grins.

 

“Only because you said please.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sara grabs her hand, pulling her backwards.

 

She has never been more glad about the short distance to the bed.

 

They tumble onto the bed. Sara laughs.

 

There is a short tussle for position, and Sara finds herself propped against the headboard. Ava kneels in front of Sara. She raises up slightly, her mouth just out of reach. She smiles.

 

They never make it easy on each other.

 

Ava’s hair tumbles over Sara’s face. Sara reaches up, tugging their faces together until they almost touch.

 

They stay there for a moment, the infinity of possibilities stretching out in front of them.

 

Ava’s breath hitches. She smiles again. Sara smiles back.

 

And then their mouths meet. Sara’s hands pull at Ava’s shirt. A button pops, and then another. She grins against Ava’s lips.

 

The shirt is gone. The skin on Ava’s back is warm under Sara’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway can't stop won't stop writing from Ava's perspective. i guess something in me identifies a bit more with an angry nerd who follows rules ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. next fic won't be up until i've got a decent chunk of the one after that written. 
> 
> i have to stop looking at this before i convince myself it's shit, so here it is for all of you lovely people's consumption


End file.
